from ashes
by Aria Fox
Summary: A death of a loved one hurts Neela deeply can Ray help or only make it worse? eventual NeelaRay WARNING character death.


Title: From ashes  
Rating: T  
Disclaimer: Surprisingly no I don't own ER or any of it's characters they are the property of Michael Crichton etc and no infringement is meant.  
Spoilers: Up to season 11 finale but but nothing major.  
Content Warning: My answer toa challenge on LJ that mutated. A little angsty and WARNING character death. This my first ER/Roomies fic so any and all comments appreciated.

* * *

"Hey, Doctor Ray, play ball with us?"

Lost in his own thoughts, Ray looked up sharply at the sound of his name. The kid who lived down from him and Neela stood with two other boys Ray vaguely recognised, waving a baseball mitt at him.

"Sorry, Jay, I've got a gig tonight." Promising to play some other time, Ray hurried up the stairs; the elevator was out as usual.

Reaching the top floor, a burning smell made Ray's nose twitch. Had Neela been cooking again? Jay's mom was the queen of take out and the other two apartments on their floor were unoccupied.

Ray prayed Neela had not been cooking the last time had been bad enough. For weeks after Gallant had left, Neela had been in a frenzy. Huge pots of curries and heavy English dishes one after the other; enough to feed the entire building or his band after a late night.

When the madness had abruptly stopped, Ray had been torn between relief that her grieving period was over and joining his bandmates at her feet, begging for just one more home cooked meal.

Nearer his apartment, the smell become sinister.

Hotter. Dangerous. Burning...

_Fire!_

Hurriedly Ray jammed his key in the door and kicked it open, calling loudly. "Neela!"

Light smoke brought tears to his eyes, and sniffing, Ray scanned the room. Only the table lamp fought against the dawning shadows, heavy silence broken by the unsuccessful spark of a lighter. Neela stood at the kitchen sink with her back to him, scattered envelopes covering the worktop, gleaming in the gathering darkness.

"Neela?" He called gruffly, cautious steps bringing him within touching range.

Black smoke rose from the sink, bringing the scene into stark clarity.

"Neela." Touching her shoulder, Ray bit his lip worriedly.

"Ray." Hoarse and flat, Neela's voice sounded nothing like her own. Picking up a crisp piece of paper, and shaking it loose from precise folds, she brought the lighter up to the far corner.

Ray stepped closer, his thumb unconsciously massaging her shoulder as noxious fumes from the sink burned his throat. He whispered, swallowing hard. "What are you doing?"

The lighter sparked again, and he vaguely recognised it as one of Brett's.

"Ummm…?" Dreamlike, Neela turned her head to look back at him, dark eyes blank.

"What happened?"

"Boring day really. We're out of coffee and bread again, it's your turn. I caught up with my reading, Michael's sister called he died last night or this morning she wasn't sure because of the time difference and Jessica came round again, Ray you should talk to her stringing her along as your back up isn't right."

Neela's uncharacteristic ramble faded into background static.

Gallant. Neela's Michael was dead? The pride of County. Dead?

A sudden surge of heat brought Ray back to his senses. Snatching away the flaming letter, he threw it down amongst the ashes and turned on the faucet. With his other hand, Ray took the lighter away from Neela.

"I need that." Frowning at him, Neela pouted prettily.

"No you don't." In other circumstances, Ray would have enjoyed Neela pushing her body against his as she tried to reach his outflung arm.

Snippets of daydreams sprung up in Ray's mind: drunk, angry, or mindless passion, yes. But his fantasy of Neela touching him never involved a puppet with its string cut.

"What are you burning, honey?" Ray crooned, the 'trust in your good pal Ray' tone that always seemed to work with patients.

"Letters, printed emails, Michael." Pouting again, Neela twisted away. Protectively, Ray's hand closed around the lighter, but Neela danced past it without a glance.

"Do we have a hammer?"

Opening a cabinet, Neela peered inside. His head spinning, Ray pocketed the lighter and positioned himself between her and the tool cupboard.

"Why do you need a hammer?"

Neela gave him an exasperated look.

"The frog Michael brought me. Just smashing it would be unsafe; bits everywhere. You know sharp things are attracted to my feet; if I wrap it up and use a hammer...no bits."

Ray had to hand it to her. Even in shock, Neela was still more of a neat freak than anyone else he knew.

"I don't get it. Why destroy the frog, or the letters, or any of it?"

Neela gave him another 'Ray you're a complete moron' look; an expression she had perfected and used frequently. It almost made her seem like her normal self.

"Michael's dead. God, Ray."

"Okay time for a new plan, Barnett," Ray muttered. Adopting his best Angry Susan Lewis, he gave Neela an impatient look. "You have a patient who is showing signs of emotional trauma. WHAT DO YOU DO?"

Neela's deadened features did not change. If anything, she seemed to retreat further into herself.

"Bad plan," Ray sighed.

He was used to fire behind those eyes; usually banked, but always waiting - ready to flare up unexpectedly. But this horrible blankness...there had to be some way to get through to her.

"How did Michael die?" Deliberately casual, Ray removed his coat, tossing it over the couch. Briefly, Neela frowned at the offending item.

Ray smirked; his girl was still in there.

"An explosion. They don't know much yet."

"Have you told County, yet, or Pratt?"

"N..n..no not yet."

Guiding her over to the sofa, Ray forced Neela to sit and seated himself opposite her on the coffee table, bracketing her legs with his.

"Him and Michael were pretty tight from what I've heard."

"Y..y..yes, different enough, but the same." Ray could feel fine muscle tremors slither through her body. He hated this. Where he was pulling her from was free of pain, and he was peeling that away - strip by tiny strip.

"So he'll go to the funeral, then. I bet a lot of the staff will if they can. His family are having it in Chicago aren't they?" Not sure if Neela's headshake was an affirmative, Ray plowed on. "Did his sister say when the Army is sending back his body? If it was an explosion there might not even be a body...is there a body? If there is, it might have to be a closed casket, he probably doesn't look too good-"

"Stop it! Just stop it, Ray!" Shaking, Neela tried to dart past him. Pulling her back, Ray felt bile rise in his throat.

"I can't." Ray's voice cracked. "I'm sorry Michael's dead, Neela, and the future you should have had together-"

Pain exploded in his left cheek.

"Shut up! You don't know anything about it!" Her breathing harsh, Neela clutched her hands together. "How can you understand anything about me and Michael? Have you ever had one relationship that lasted longer than it takes for you to get rid of her in the morning?" she demanded, pushing him hard. He fell back onto the coffeetable.

Desperately, he looked at the phone.

One of the psychologists owed him a favour, or Abby...anyone but him! He was doing this all wrong; this was not helping her.

"I know destroying every reminder of him isn't the answer."

"But he's gone!" Straddling his hips, Neela glared down at him. "He's supposed to come back, we're meant to be unsure of how the other feels and have awkward conversations." Her mouth trembling, Neela wiped away tears with the back of her hand. "Go on a date that we pretend isn't a date, get together, have stupid fights. M..m..my family hate him for not being Punjabi...he's supposed to be here, damn it!"

Shudders racked her body as she collapsed against him, and Ray's hands fluttered uncertainly above her back. Gasps of choked back sobs filled his ears, Neela still determined to fight her grief.

Abruptly she surged off him, and he lay still as the bathroom door slammed shut.

Wearily, Ray sat up and crossed the room to open a window, letting the cold Chicago wind take away the smell of burnt love letters. Muffled tears reached him from behind the cheap bathroom door. He done it, cracked through, and his reward was to stand there and listen to his roommate's heart break.

_Well done, Doctor Barnett._


End file.
